The Lurkers Within 1
by Morris Kenyon
Summary: When a homeless girl seeks shelter for the night, finds herself in a dangerous place. A flash fiction tale of terror inspired by the works of H.P. Lovecraft. I will read and return all reviews, thanks.


LURKERS WITHIN 1.

_Life wasn't meant to be like this_, Lacey thought as she shouldered her backpack for the fourth time that morning. Lacey walked past her so-called friend's Chevy and back onto the street. This never-ending recession hadn't affected Kim one little bit. And now that bitch wouldn't let her crash on her couch for a few nights or even grab a shower. Some excuse about how her boyfriend wouldn't like it.

Lacey caught sight of her reflection in a driver's-side mirror. No make-up, greasy hair that badly needed washing and a filthy grey T. In this summer heat, she felt sticky and very dirty...

It wasn't her fault she'd lost her job at the factory. As her boss put it, the downturn is really biting. There wasn't any other work in Poynette so she'd thumbed a lift to Milwaukee to try there.

Thinking back, Lacey could've managed things better. She'd spent most of her severance check on a week at a motel thinking she'd pick up work easily. Bored, she'd fallen in with the party crowd over on Sixth and blown her cash. Fun while it lasted but as soon as the check ran out, so did her new pals. So she'd flopped with a few of her college friends who'd made the break from her small town but now Lacey knew she'd outstayed her welcome.

She'd spent the last couple of nights dozing in a doorway in the warehouse district. Lacey was glad it was dry but with thunderheads building up, she knew her luck wouldn't last much longer. And that article in the Clarion scared her – that poor homeless guy found in the river. The report said he'd been mutilated but gave no details. Lacey guessed the cops were withholding those to weed out the crank callers. Unless they were too horrible to be published. Her mind flinched from that.

The sun was high and the temperature in the upper eighties by the time Lacey reached downtown. She passed some office workers sitting under an oak enjoying an early lunch. None of them so much as glanced at her as she shuffled by. Now hunger and thirst tortured her. She crossed Sixth looking wistfully at the bars lining both sides.

On Ninth she'd heard there was a YWCA and Lacey hoped there was a bed for her. There wasn't but the grey-haired woman in charge gave her a sandwich and a bottle of water. Lacey noticed the woman had a black tattoo of a goat on her upper arm. She wondered where she got it but was too tired to ask.

"Try again tomorrow," the woman said with a smile. But her eyes told her that Lacey would be wasting her time. Lacey turned to go. "Hey," said the woman. "I heard there are people squatting in an abandoned church over on Thirty-Fifth. Reckon you'd fit right in." The woman turned away to deal with a bedraggled old lady.

Once again, Lacey hefted her backpack and set off. It was a long walk to Thirty-Fifth but the food revived Lacey. The sky was heavy and long before she reached the church the clouds opened, soaking her.

Like the nearby houses the boarded-up church was derelict. A door stood ajar and Lacey saw firelight flickering and voices singing from within. A woman's voice rose above the anthem in a chant. Lacey didn't recognise the language. As a young woman, she felt hesitant about entering on her own. Rain gushed from a broken downspout and she shivered. That decided her. She could either spend a cold, hungry, wet night outside or try here. And after all, there was another woman present, giving Lacey a little confidence.

Lacey pushed open the door and stepped inside. She didn't speak, waiting for a pause in the ceremony. The interior was gloomy; all the windows had been boarded over. The walls were sprayed in strange graffiti; the fluorescent paint forming ugly, disturbing patterns that suggested worse than the usual gangsta tags.

The sweet scent of incense or joss sticks caught Lacey's nose. Unusually, she couldn't smell marijuana underneath. Instead, the sweetness masked a harsher, metallic odour that she couldn't place.

All the chairs had long gone but in the darkness, Lacey saw a dozen people, men and women standing around a wooden table lit by candles. Their leader, a tall woman with black hair, had her arms raised over her head holding a curved knife. Candlelight flickered along the blade. Perhaps sensing Lacey's presence, the woman stopped her chant.

Slowly everyone fell silent and looked at Lacey. She felt nervous under their gaze and wondered what sort of religion involved knives? Lacey fidgeted uncomfortably. "The woman at the shelter sent me. I hope that's okay?"

The woman lowered her knife and stepped away from the table. "Of course. Come here, dear."

Lacey felt herself drawn by the woman's presence. Leaving the doorway, making her decision, she approached the group. She could put up with a sermon in exchange for a meal and a bed for the night.

Closer, she noticed that this woman had an identical tattoo as the lady at the shelter. Another woman helped Lacey take off her backpack. As she did so, the group gathered around, closer than Lacey liked. She had been on her own for so long that suddenly she felt nervous, scared by their intensity.

Lacey cleared her throat. "Actually, I've just remembered I'm meeting a friend?"

Somebody closed the door, cutting off her retreat. Then they fell on her, manhandling her, dragging her up onto the table. Lacey mute and helpless with fear didn't struggle. They pushed her onto its unyielding surface. A forest of arms pinned her down. Lacey stared up frantically, her eyes begging for mercy.

The priestess chanted, her voice echoing around the vaulted building. "The sacrifice comes. _Iä! Shub-Niggurath._ The Goat with a Thousand Young."

The knife rose and fell. There was a single scream.


End file.
